


Give Me More ('Til I Can't Stand)

by colonel_bastard



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Hand Kink, Hiddlesworth, M/M, Oral Sex, and the shoes stay on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom thinks 'Starships' by Nicki Minaj is pulpy and hilarious.  Chris has never heard it.  Tom is going to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me More ('Til I Can't Stand)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juno/gifts).



> A birthday gift for my darling [Juno](http://junosunderland.tumblr.com), who wanted three simple things: Hiddlesworth, Nicki Minaj, and fingers getting shoved into mouths. I delivered on all accounts. Many happy returns of the day, my friend.

When he steps into the hotel gym, Chris is pleased to discover that he has the place almost entirely to himself. Almost, except for one lone treadmill at the far end, its occupant running hard and fast. Chris feels a twinge of amusement when he recognizes Tom by his long, pale legs before anything else--- and this _despite_ the fact that those gym shorts are not _nearly_ as short as Chris would like them to be. With earbuds jammed tightly in place, Hiddleston seems oblivious to his new companion. His gaze is distant and unfocused, his lips moving soundlessly as he races against the infinite, rolling track beneath his feet. He’s just _begging_ to be snuck up on. 

Chris closes the distance between them gingerly, keeping to the back wall to minimize his presence in Tom’s peripheral vision. He’s nearly there, nearly to the point where he can reach out and tap him on the back of the head, when Tom unexpectedly chants in a shrill falsetto voice: 

“ _Higher than a motherfucker!_ ”

And Chris is so surprised that he guffaws with laughter. 

It ends up having the same effect he was originally aiming for--- Tom is completely startled, so spooked that he jumps and loses his footing, the treadmill instantly ripping his balance away from him and launching him backwards into Chris’s waiting arms. Chris is laughing so hard that he barely manages to catch him, but he wraps his arms protectively around his chest and staggers with his momentum, somehow keeping both of them from ending up on the floor. When Tom looks back and sees who’s holding him, he bursts into giggles and tugs the buds out of his ears, a tinny echo of the music now distantly audible. 

“You cheeky bastard!” He laughs, giving Chris’s wrists a series of punitive slaps. “It’s not polite to sneak up on people!” 

“It’s not polite to shriek the word _motherfucker_ in a public gym, either.” 

Tom groans in embarrassment, one hand reaching up to cover his eyes. He’s not making any move to get out of Chris’s arms just yet. Chris isn’t planning on rushing him. 

“In my defense,” Tom protests, squirming pleasantly against Chris’s chest. “I didn’t _intend_ to say it out loud. I just got a bit... carried away.” 

“A bit,” Chris concurs. “What the hell are you _listening_ to, anyway?” 

“Ah, just a bit of Nicki,” Tom says, like Chris is supposed to know what the hell that means. 

“Who?” 

“Nicki _Minaj._ ” 

“ _Ah._ ” 

“Oh, come onnn,” Tom cajoles, hearing the distaste in his voice. “She’s pulpy and hilarious! And you must admit, the song is _very_ catchy.” 

“Which one?”

“Starships!” Tom sounds almost appalled that he had to ask. 

Chris shrugs against his back. “Never heard it.” 

Apparently this is so vexing that Tom has to wrestle incredulously out of his grip and turn to face him. 

“ _Wait._ ” He holds up his hands dramatically. “Do you mean to tell me that you have _never_ heard the song ‘Starships’ by Nicki Minaj?” 

“I dunno, mate,” Chris shrugs again. “Hum a few bars.” 

Tom twitches like he’s dropping an imaginary needle onto a record in his brain. Then he starts bobbing up and down to the music only he can hear, singing along halfway under his breath. 

“ _Starships... were meant to flyyy... hands up... and touch the skyyy..._ ”

He watches Chris’s face for a glimmer of recognition, his own eyes going wider and wider when it never comes. 

“You don’t know it!” he gapes. 

“Guess not.” 

“We have to fix that. Immediately.” 

“All right,” Chris agrees, gesturing to the earbuds draped around his neck. “I’ll give it a shot.” 

Tom clutches the thin cord, looking stricken. “But... I want to listen, too!” 

“Well,” Chris smirks. “We could each take one if we huddle in _real_ close.” 

“I suppose,” Tom says distractedly, completely missing the point. “But I don’t think you’d really be able to appreciate the song like that.” 

It’s not really the _song_ that Chris wants to appreciate right now, but he’ll always appreciate Tom’s appreciation for things. He knows that nothing makes Tom happier than sharing the things that he loves. He brings them like offerings, like a cat laying dead birds at his master’s feet--- _here, here, I found a song you might like, and oh, here’s a movie that I think you’ll enjoy, and a new type of food, because it makes me happy and I want you to be happy, too._

Tom’s face suddenly lights up. “Come back to my room.” 

Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.” 

And Tom starts to do just that, bolting excitedly for the exit--- before skidding to a graceless halt, galloping back again, and switching off the treadmill that he’d left running at top speed. Then he grabs his water bottle from the machine’s cup holder and dashes towards the exit again without a break in his stride, leading Chris out and down the hallway at practically a jog. He’s just coming off of a run, his adrenaline high and his heart still pounding. He prances in place while they wait for the elevator together. 

During the short ride to their floor, he helps himself to a long drink of water. Chris seizes the opportunity to check him out. After his workout he’s drenched in sweat, his t-shirt stained darker under the arms and around the collar, with large damp patches spreading down his chest and back. He must have been running _hard._ With his head tipped back for the drink, Chris’s gaze is drawn inexorably to his exposed throat, to the muscles undulating with every swallow. His skin has a faint, tempting sheen that must surely taste of salt.

Tom notices him staring. He always notices. He winks, screws the cap back on the water bottle, and pretends to pour its contents all over his face and the front of his t-shirt. Chris shifts his weight in spite of himself. 

“Mmm,” Tom swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

Before Chris can jam his thumb against the emergency stop button and show him just _how much_ he’d like it, they arrive at their floor. He reaches for the button anyway--- but the doors slide open and Tom charges out like a racehorse from the starting gate. Chris doesn’t need to hurry after him. He knows exactly which room he’s in. He could probably find his way there even if he was completely hammered and coming up from the hotel bar at 2am. 

Oh, wait. Nix that _probably._

Tom spends enough time fiddling with his keycard that Chris is able to sneak up behind him and snap the waistband of his gym shorts, making him yelp. 

“You’re _incorrigible!_ ” he scolds, clearly delighted by this fact. 

There’s an iPod sound dock in Tom’s hotel room. There’s also a queen-sized bed. Chris is more interested in the latter, of course, but Tom makes a beeline for the former, a man on a mission. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps it into place, unplugging the earbuds as he does so. 

“All right,” he says, grinning. “Are you ready for this?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Chris chuckles. 

Tom presses play. 

The song opens with bright, energetic chords--- and after about two seconds Tom is already clasping his hands together and cooing, “It just _sounds_ like _summer!_ ” And as Ms. Minaj launches into her first verse, Tom gleefully sings right along with her. 

“ _Let’s go to the beach, each_  
 _Let’s go get away_  
 _They say, what they gonna say?_ ”

“Of _course_ you would know all the words,” Chris shakes his head in amusement.

Tom jerks his thumbs proudly towards his chest. “ _Bad bitches like me is hard to come by!_ ” 

_That’s for damn sure,_ Chris thinks, savoring the way Tom’s hips start to pop to the rhythm. Tom reacts to tacky pop music in the same way that normal people react to alcohol. It strips away his inhibitions, makes him giddy and wild and completely oblivious to how ridiculous he might look to anybody else. The effect intensifies like alcohol, too, starting with his hips and spreading out through his legs and arms as the song continues. By the time the rhythm changes again, his whole body is swinging in time. 

“ _I’m on the floor, floor,_ ” he crows happily. “ _I love to dance!_ ” 

“No, really?” Chris laughs. “I couldn’t tell!”

“Come on, then!” Tom gestures for him to join in. “ _Get on the floor, floor, like it’s your last chance!_ ” 

But Chris holds up his hands, passing on the invitation. He doesn’t really want to dance. He’d rather take a seat on the end of the bed and watch Tom dance instead, and he does just that as the beat drops out and the song reaches a now vaguely familiar chorus. Tom bounces in place, his hands tracing the air. 

“ _Starships were meant to fly!_  
 _Hands up and touch the sky_  
 _Can’t stop, ‘cause we’re so high!_ ”

“I had my suspicions,” Chris quips, and Tom makes a scandalized face.

“I’m high on _life,_ ” he declares melodramatically, adding a few indignant swats for good measure. 

“And drunk on love,” Chris finishes, catching his wrists and pulling him down for a kiss. 

Tom leans into it, humming his satisfaction. As the song goes on without him, Chris moves one of his hands up into his curly hair, encouraging him to lean down farther, farther, planning to bring him all the way down to the bed if he can. He urges his mouth open, using his tongue and teeth to be as distracting as possible. For a moment it seems like he might just have him--- but then Tom breaks the kiss and pulls away. 

“Okay,” he grins giddily. “Here comes the best part!” 

“ _Hands up,_ ” says Nicki, and Tom answers, “ _We’re higher than a motherfucker!_ ” 

Then he launches himself back towards the center of the room, where there’s plenty of space to jump and flail and generally freak out as the pounding dance break kicks in. If his t-shirt wasn’t already soaked with sweat, it would be soon enough--- Tom is dancing like a total lunatic, unabashed, bounding excitedly about the carpet in his well-worn running shoes. Sometimes Chris can hardly believe that this is the same man who inhabits the hateful, bitter skin of Loki Laufeyson, that he can be so full of light and yet capable of producing such darkness. 

“You’re something else, mate,” he says, adding a laugh so it sounds more teasing than earnest. 

“I can’t help it,” Tom pants, still jumping. “It’s _exciting._ It makes me run faster.” 

“I can see why.” 

The jumping comes to an end when the dance break does, Tom settling back into something a bit less like hysteria and a bit more like actual dancing as the second verse begins. 

“ _Jump in my hoopty hoopty hoop,_ ” says Nicki, and Chris snorts. 

“Oh, she’s a real poet, that one,” he teases. 

“Maybe,” Tom smirks. “But I think you might like this next bit.” 

He crosses his arms behind his head, accentuating the long, lean line of his torso as he rolls his hips and sings---

“ _But fuck who you want and fuck who you like_  
 _Dance all life, there’s no end in sight!_ ” 

“Mmh,” Chris grunts. “ _Now_ you have my attention.” 

He reaches out for him, tries to snag him by the waistband of his shorts again--- but Tom hops nimbly out of his range, then _keeps_ hopping as the tempo of the singing kicks up faster. 

“ _Now everybody let me hear you say ray-ray-ray!_   
_Come spend all your money ‘cause today payday!_ ”

“I get it, I get it,” Chris talks over the music. “Great song. Point made. Now c’mere.” 

“Nope,” Tom spins as he hops in place. “Not until you dance with me.” 

“I _will,_ ” Chris says, patting the bed. “Let’s _dance,_ babe.” 

“ _If you want more,_ ” Tom sings, crooking his finger to the beat of the music. “ _Then here I am._ ”

He turns his back, daring Chris to sneak up on him as he sways to the chorus, his hands weaving artlessly overhead. _Starships were meant to fly_ and Chris is already lunging towards him, and by _touch the sky_ he’s got his arms wrapped tightly around that slim waist. 

“I’m a shit dancer,” he rumbles, nuzzling the corner of Tom’s jaw. 

“It’s easy,” Tom shivers. “Just move with the music.” 

The beat drops back in and Chris obeys, pumping his hips to the escalating rhythm and making Tom aware of his growing hard-on by grinding it against his ass. Tom hisses and presses back against him, one hand clutching at Chris’s forearm and the other reaching up to grab the back of his neck, locking them together. 

“That’s the spirit,” he gasps. 

“ _Can’t stop,_ ” says Nicki. “ _We’re higher than a---_ ”

And by now Chris has learned enough to growl into Tom’s ear, “--- _motherfucker._ ” 

The dance break explodes with its throbbing bass, and they grind together like they’re in a night club, not a hotel room--- like they’re dressed to kill and in the midst of a spectacular night out, not wearing grubby gym clothes in the middle of an exhausting press tour. Chris can’t believe it’s actually happening, but he is dancing to a Nicki Minaj song and he is enjoying the _shit_ out of it. He wonders if Tom’s crazy is contagious. 

Unexpectedly, the beat cuts out to make room for one last chorus. Nicki keeps singing while the dancers shudder to a halt, their bodies completely intertwined, impossible to separate. 

“Is that enough?” Chris pants raggedly. “Can we move to the bed now?”

By way of answer, Tom turns around in his arms and kisses him senseless. They stumble towards the bed and the music chases them, the drumbeat escalating as they hit the mattress together, refusing to let their mouths come apart for even a second. _Higher than a motherfucker_ and Chris can feel that thumping bass line in his _skin_ \--- or maybe that’s just his pulse roaring in his ears, his heart thundering in his ribcage. They twist and tangle and he understands what Tom _really_ meant, the music urging him to go faster, _faster,_ his hands greedily roving over every inch of his lover he can reach. He’s dimly aware of Tom fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, and he lifts his arms just long enough for the obstructive garment to be removed and thrown aside. 

They’re going so hot and heavy that he doesn’t even notice when the song ends. It isn’t until it starts over that he realizes something’s up. 

“ _Let’s go to the beach, each_  
 _Let’s go get away!_ ”

“Whaaat?” Chris groans. 

“I had it on repeat!” Tom blurts, covering his face with his hands. 

“Sorry, mate,” Chris immediately hauls himself up to go and silence it. “I only agreed to listen to it once.” 

“I was trying to learn all the words,” Tom explains, pushing sweaty hair off his forehead. “I think I’ve only _just_ got it all down. How did I do?”

Chris unplugs the music and turns back to face him, feeling the heat in his gaze even from halfway across the room. 

“I dunno,” he smirks. “I only caught the bit about fucking who I want.” 

“Ooo,” Tom purrs. “Then you must really like me.” 

“Wanna see how much?” Chris licks his lips. “Lose the shorts, dancing queen.” 

Tom jumps to his feet like he’s been hit with a cattle prod, shoving his gym shorts down to the floor without a moment of hesitation. He manages to wrestle one sneaker-clad foot out of the clingy material, leaving the rest pooled around the other ankle. They’re mirrored, now, Tom still wearing his t-shirt while Chris is bare-chested, Tom’s shorts on the floor while Chris’s are still slung low on his hips. Chris reaches back to let his hair down, and as he shakes it loose Tom gives a moan of appreciation, his fingers already twitching with the desire to grab fistfuls of it. 

“Come here,” he breathes, reaching out. 

Chris takes his time on the approach, too busy enjoying the spectacle of Tom already breathing hard, already sweat-soaked and wild-eyed and Chris barely even had to _touch_ him. He just had to sit back and watch Tom whip _himself_ into an almighty _frenzy_ because he just can’t _help_ it. When Tom uses the phrase _uncontrollably excited_ to describe himself, Chris wonders how many people realize just how true it really is. 

“You’re a maniac,” he says fondly. 

“Mad as a march hare,” Tom assures, his fingers threading into Chris’s hair as Chris finally comes close enough to kiss him. 

Hands on his shoulders, Chris urges Tom down to sit on the edge of the bed. Even in public Tom has a distracting tendency to sit with his legs spread wide open, so there’s already plenty of room for Chris to sink to his knees between them, his head tilted back to leave the kiss unbroken. His hands find their way to Tom’s thighs and _squeeze._

“Okay, baby,” he rumbles. “Now we’re gonna dance _my_ way.” 

Tom’s eyes roll back in giddy anticipation--- then his whole body jolts upwards as Chris takes him into his mouth. 

“ _Fffffuck,_ ” he exhales. 

He has to drop one hand back onto the bed to brace himself, the other fisting into his lover’s thick golden hair as Chris begins to bob his head up and down, one forefinger and thumb wrapped snugly around the base of Tom’s cock. His other hand continues to massage that pale, trembling thigh, the muscles already exhausted as Tom moves into his third work-out of the day. _Running, dancing, fucking_ \--- when asked for his fitness routine, he will politely answer with only the first. This position’s gotta be _great_ for his abs, though. Chris can see the muscles shuddering under his damp, clinging t-shirt. 

“You’re fantastic, you know that?” Tom laughs breathlessly, fingers carding again and again over Chris’s head. “First you--- _ah_ \--- first you listen to my--- my trashy pop music and--- _nnnh_ \--- and now this? It’s not my birthday, is it?” 

Chris switches to jerking Tom off so he can answer, his right hand pumping hard and fast. 

“I think there was--- some sort of subliminal message in there.” He twists his wrist and Tom bucks and shudders. “Something about--- _Starships... were meant to flyyy... and Chris... should suck Tom’s diiick..._ ” 

“Hmh,” Tom grunts. “I must have missed that part.” 

“It was very persuasive.”

“Clearly.” 

Without further ado, Chris slips an arm under Tom’s knee and flips him effortlessly onto his back. 

“Ooof!” Tom giggles in delight. “ _Big man!_ That’s my big man.” 

He’s got one leg hooked down over the edge of the bed and the other hooked over Chris’s shoulder, his heel digging into that broad, powerful back for the leverage to lift his hips towards Chris’s all-too-eager mouth. Chris doesn’t even mind that he’s still wearing his sneakers--- though he does briefly wonder how many heel prints will be stamped into his bare skin by the time they’re done. Heaven knows Tom won’t be showing any restraint. 

“ _Ohhhh,_ ” Tom moans as Chris takes him in again. “God that’s _good._ ” 

_Good,_ Chris thinks, his mouth too full to answer out loud. 

He’s still dressed for the work-out that never happened, and the slippery material of his gym shorts makes it especially easy to rub himself against the side of the bed as he works, taking some of the edge off the intense heat between his legs. Tom turns him on like nothing else, makes him so horny that he can’t even make it through a three-and-a-half minute song without trying to jump his bones. If he _didn’t_ start humping the side of the bed then he’d probably have a full-blown heart attack from the sheer _pressure._

He can always tell when Tom is getting there because he finally stops smiling, his semi-permanent grin dissolving into an expression of dazed, mindless bliss, his jaw hanging slack and his blue eyes rolling under half-masted lids. He’s got himself propped up on his elbows, one hand buried in the hair at the nape of Chris’s neck, his breath alternating between rapid panting and protracted, belly-deep groans of pleasure. Yeah. He’s _close._

“You gonna come for me?” Chris mumbles, nipping his inner thigh. 

The hand in his hair grips even tighter. “I always do.”

Oh, _fuck._ Chris grinds helplessly against the side of the mattress, so close to climax himself that he can barely concentrate on getting Tom there first. _I always do_ \--- and suddenly he’s remembering them _all_ , the trysts in the back of cars, the countless hotel rooms, their _trailers_ \--- Tom coming in his hand after pretending to hate him all day, both of them raw from the strain. 

He’s gotta finish this _now_ or he’s never gonna make it. He fastens his mouth onto the head of Tom’s cock and sucks hard, pumping the rest of his length with one hand, using the other to steady the leg hitched over his shoulder. Tom’s heel feels like it’s trying to put out a cigarette on his back and he doesn’t care. He loves the desperation, the _need_ , Tom arching towards him even as he throws his head back, his eyes squeezing shut. 

“ _Ah!_ ” he hisses. “Ah, Chris, that’s--- _hnnh_ \--- _yes_ \---” 

And he comes, his hips spasming as Chris holds on and swallows proudly, wringing out every last drop until Tom finally collapses back onto the bed, utterly spent.

Chris sits back on his heels, admiring the view from between those mile-long legs, up the length of the drenched t-shirt and all the way to Tom’s open, gasping mouth. The rest of his face is hidden under the crook of one arm, the other flung across his belly as he attempts to catch his breath. He twitches when Chris gives the tip of his over-sensitized cock a kiss. 

“Oof,” he gasps. “Gently, darling.” 

Chris moves to his inner thigh instead, nuzzling the tender skin with his stubble. One of Tom’s hands ends up in his hair again, gratefully stroking his head as he lays down a trail of licks and kisses. 

“Hmmm,” Tom sighs. “Mmmm, that’s lovely.” 

So Chris doesn’t stop, just keeps going until Tom eventually scoots away from him. 

“All right,” he says, wriggling backwards to make room on the bed. “Get up here.” 

He pats the coverlet and Chris doesn’t need to be told twice, just crawls right up alongside him so they can lie down facing each other, Tom already kissing him before they’ve even settled. 

“So,” he grins between kisses. “Did you like the song?” 

“It was okay,” Chris chuckles. “I liked the dancing better.” 

“Thought you might.” Tom’s glance flicks scandalously downward and back again. “Shall I give you a hand with that?” 

“I was kinda hoping you would, yeah,” Chris says blithely, and Tom sticks his tongue out at him. 

Oh, scratch that--- he wasn’t sticking his tongue out to be cheeky, he was doing it so he could slather a big coat of spit all over the palm of his hand. A fresh wave of arousal slams into Chris at tsunami levels. _Holy shit._ The gesture is so unexpectedly filthy, the intention so _explicit_ \--- Chris grabs him roughly by the wrist. 

“Here,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Let me.”

He presses Tom’s hand to his lips and lets his tongue pour out to caress, to claim, tracing the life line on his palm while Tom’s eyes go half-shuttered with lust. He’s got such fucking perfect _hands._ Chris can’t enough, and he licks each long, slender finger one by one, knuckle to nail, while Tom bites his lip and watches in approving silence. By the time he withdraws, his hand is thoroughly glazed, dripping with their mixed saliva. 

“Well,” he says faintly. “That should do it.” 

And there it is, that _smile,_ creeping slowly across his face as he reaches right down the front of Chris’s gym shorts and takes a firm grip on his cock.

“ _Nnnngh,_ ” Chris growls, jerking his hips towards him. 

“Easy, tiger,” Tom smirks. “I’m just getting started.” 

And he _never_ rushes. His hand moves slowly, almost lazily between them, working the spit and pre-come between his fingers and spreading it evenly, ever meticulous, even here. Chris can’t help himself, he starts making that stupid rumbling sound in his throat that Tom always refers to as _the Hemsworth purr._

“I think,” Tom murmurs, stroking languidly, “that when we’re doing our interviews tomorrow, I’m going to tell everyone... that you love Nicki Minaj.” 

“Don’t do that,” Chris mumbles absently, his attention elsewhere. 

“I will.” Tom’s hand starts to move a little faster. “I’m going to tell _everyone_ that _you_ were dancing to _Nicki Minaj_ and you _loved_ it.” 

“There were--- mmf--- extenuating circumstances.” 

“I’d like to see you explain _those_ to the press.” 

“I’ll deny the whole thing.” 

“Of course you _can_ do that, but then you and I will _both_ know that you are a _liar._ ”

Tom’s really getting up to speed, now. Chris’s breathing is becoming erratic, his ability to form comebacks almost nonexistent. 

“Chris Hemsworth loves Nicki Minaj!” Tom taunts, relentless. “The macho man himself! The hero! _The mighty Thor_ \---” 

And _that_ does it. Before Chris can even stop himself he slaps a commanding hand over that impertinent mouth. 

“You talk too much.” 

Tom wriggles his mouth free. “Chris Hemsworth knows _all_ of the lyrics to ‘Starships!’ It’s his absolute _favorite_ \---”

Chris claps his hand back over it. “I said knock it off.” 

Tom easily twists his head away again. “ _Make me._ ” 

And Chris thinks: _challenge accepted._

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” he warns, “you’re asking for it.” 

Before Tom can fire off another retort, Chris stifles him with his palm--- and when he twists to escape again, his mouth opens just enough for Chris to wedge his fingers inside. He shoves them in up to the second knuckle, not deep enough to gag him, just enough to fill his mouth and shut him up. Tom’s eyes widen in surprise, the hand in Chris’s shorts going suddenly, lamentably still. 

“That’s what you _get_ ,” Chris says, curling his fingers slightly so the middle two digits hook behind Tom’s teeth. 

He shivers at the first stroke of the hot, wet tongue, at the fact that he can’t see it but he can _feel_ it gliding over his fingertips, exploring him. Then Tom reaches up with his free hand and takes him by the wrist. For moment Chris thinks he’s going to push him away, but instead he urges him in deeper, his teeth scraping past the second knuckle and biting down. _Then_ he pushes away, drawing the fingers almost completely out of his mouth--- and at the same time the hand on Chris’s cock tightens and moves, a long, slow pull from root to tip. Chris realizes what he’s about to do right before he starts doing it. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” he wheezes. 

Tom begins to move his perfect hands in tandem, the one pumping Chris’s dick and the other pumping his wrist to the same rhythm, fingers thrusting in and out of his mouth as his hand moves down and up and down again. Tom squeezes and sucks, his eyes never leaving Chris’s face even though Chris is looking everywhere _else._ He stares at his slick lips, his laboring jaw, and pretty soon Tom doesn’t even have to guide him by the wrist anymore, Chris is actively fucking his mouth with his fingers just to watch him _work._ The hand in his shorts matches the tempo he sets, and the line in his brain between the two separate points of contact begins to blur.

The thing is, Tom doesn’t need to talk to tease. It’s all there in his eyes, every unspoken quip flashing there like sunlight on water, the blue depths glittering with triumph as he reduces Chris to a shuddering, gasping mess. He threads his tongue in and around Chris’s fingers, biting down unexpectedly and jerking hard on his cock when he does, a thousand different synapses colliding and exploding. Chris was so close already that he knows he won’t last much longer. 

“Keep it--- keep it coming,” he grunts, the tension building in his belly, his nerves coiling towards release. 

And Tom accelerates, his hand moving faster and faster, his tongue obscenely mimicking the pace as it strokes Chris’s fingers harder, _harder,_ until Chris comes with a groan and spills himself all over the inside of his shorts. 

_Whatever. He needed to wash them, anyway._

Dazed and content, he watches as Tom extracts his hand and wipes it off on his belly, shameless. His lips and chin are completely coated with spit, and he tugs the collar of his t-shirt up over his nose and uses the inside to swab away the worst of it. He’s a total mess--- in the best possible way. 

“I don’t know about you,” he smirks at last, reaching out to brush a damp strand of hair off Chris’s face. “But after a work-out like that, I could really use a shower.” 

“And some laundry service,” Chris agrees. 

“Hmm,” Tom squints and ponders. “That doesn’t sound _quite_ as sexy, sorry.”

Chris smacks him on the arm, laughing. Tom silences him with a kiss, shifting his weight so that he rolls over on top of him as Chris reaches up to run his fingers through his curls. 

“Thank you,” Tom smiles against his mouth. “For listening. Really. Next time you get to pick the song.” 

“Better pick a good one, then,” Chris muses, slipping his hands under his t-shirt and up his slim back. “I definitely have some ideas.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was thinking maybe...” 

He leans up to whisper in Tom’s ear. 

“ _You Shook Me All Night Long._ ”

Tom shivers in excitement.

“Ohhh,” he breathes. “I like the sound of that.”

 

 

 

__________end.


End file.
